Black Angel: Devil's Palm
by Aaraidea
Summary: It's been three years, and the great consulting detective has finally returned. Now it's John and Sherlock's first official case back, and they must find 'what was stolen' before a scientist has his life cut short. And it seems everyone has reason to need the man alive, even Sherlock. (Continuation from first story.)
1. Chapter 1

**Please note before reading that not all locations are genuine and have been created for writing purposes. Enjoy part 2!**

* * *

...

* * *

_**Part 2: Devil's Palm**_

**Chapter 1**

_War has erupted between two devastating forces. It remains in a state of shadows; neither side knows of the others plans, of their arsenal, of their sanities. This does not stop the loss of life and the threat of Death._

As the storm raged outside, sending sheets of rain cascading on the windows and darkening the world outside, the lit room filled with warmth and comfortable surroundings was certainly more pleasant. Glossy surfaces, plumped pillows on deep armchairs and not a speck of dust in even the smallest corner of the room, he still continued to look out the window at the damp street, ghostly figures whose faces he would never see again, running through the rain or strolling with umbrellas above their heads while fighting against the traitorous wind.

Midway through taking another sip of the steaming hot coffee the assistant had handed him upon arrival, the man John had woken up so early to meet walked in with a similar beverage in one hand and a thin, brown folder tucked under his other arm. Mycroft lowered his hand to offer John a seat, but declined, instead walking over to place his coffee down on the glass mat atop the mirror-like oak table and taking the folder Mycroft handed over. The older Holmes proceeded to sit down and pick up the nearest newspaper as John looked through the small amount of paperwork that he had been desperate to get hold off.

"I assume everything appears acceptable?" Mycroft asked as he skimmed over the front cover of The Sun. All the correct sections had been signed, governmental seals official, court orders prevented before they had been even issued. John nodded as he closed the folder. "Why do you suppose he did it?"

"Excuse me?" John asked in surprise. The question was sudden and not at all specific to him.

"My brother had every chance to return over the past three years and carry on life as if the days before had been a simple misunderstanding. Yet he chose the rather bizarre route of living alone in the murky regions of London. You know him better than me. Why?" Mycroft finished, looking up at the army doctor, who was stunned.

"If I had any idea as to why then I would have told you a long time ago," John answered, finishing his coffee. "I'm still busy trying to figure out how he survived the Fall. Or why he came back looking like a train wreck a fortnight ago." Mycroft made no response, only looking back at his newspaper.

"He would have earned his motives." With nothing more to say, and deciding to keep his sudden thoughts to himself, he made for the large double doors to leave. "Do keep me informed on my brother's recovery."

* * *

Within seconds of exiting the building John's coat was soaked through in the torrential downpour falling from the dark grey sky, the sun's first rays still trying to climb over the horizon of towering apartment blocks and company buildings. It took three attempts to hail a cab in the rain, visibility limited for John himself and any free cab. When he was finally on the route home, he checked his phone for any messages. None, not that he had been expecting any.

The money was handed over to the cabbie and with the folder tucked under his coat, he rushed for the door, fiddling with the lock longer than he wished, slamming it behind him against the wind. John shook his coat, sending droplets of water everywhere and hanging it on the banister before heading upstairs. There was a large amount of clattering. He opened the door to the living to find several boxes trailing towards the kitchen. He walked around the corner and narrowly avoided being hit in the face by a book.

"This is ridiculous! An infant could have ordered this better!" Sherlock bellowed. He continued digging around the boxes to unpack various science equipment and papers covered in research scribbles, some he had finally taken to throwing away judging by the scrunched up pieces lying around John's feet. Or it was during a fit the man had thrown. John could only guess that despite being gone for nearly an hour, Sherlock had been cursing at the air, taking no notice of John's presence. "Whoever stored this has absolutely no sense of categorisation!"

"I'm sure Mrs Hudson would love for you to tell her that directly. Besides, a dead man can't exactly pack away his belongings," John said bluntly. A glass vial smashed against the wall behind him, missing his head my mere millimetres. Sherlock held his judgemental glare at John after catapulting the vial towards him. In response, he waved the brown folder at Sherlock, who huffed and went back to arranging his equipment. "You can't ignore this, it's important."

"It's a few scraps of paper that help avoid wasting time," Sherlock mumbled.

"They're court avoidances, Sherlock! When people find out you're alive the police who aren't on Greg's side are going to get you arrested as fast they can. Not because of Moriarty, but because faking your own death isn't exactly ignored these days," John tried to explain, but it was closer to trying to talk to a brick wall that the usual five-year-old Sherlock turned to in these sorts of conversations.

Since he continued to be ignored, John sat down to watch the news before he had to go to work, once again finding his train of thought changing direction and contemplating what had occurred recently. Sherlock had been gone for nearly three years. He had been homeless, hurt and had seemed to be attracting trouble every step of the way. John had watched Sherlock recover from both the night of his actual return and the night of the first case back.

The night of the case, when they returned to the flat, Sherlock spent another three days locked away in his room, John leaving out food, drink and bandages for him to collect when John couldn't see. It had been two weeks since the case and Sherlock was very much nearing complete recovery, with only a few small scabs and faint patches of bruising on visible skin and he no longer clutched his chest from whatever wound had previously been there. Mrs Hudson had got hold of the scissors and tamed his hair while John was away at work. Looking over at the consulting detective, who was presently looking through his microscope to make sure it still worked properly, was wearing his black trousers, white shirt, (kept clean and ironed by Mrs Hudson over the years gone by) and a thin black dressing gown on top.

"What exactly was the reasoning behind stealing and washing my clothes?" Sherlock piped up, halting the train of John's thoughts for a while. He knew exactly what he meant, and it meant the train could go back on course. The beaten down clothes Sherlock had been wearing were left on his bed one day, when he was wearing his night clothes a few days previous. John had grabbed them while he was lying on the couch thinking silently and took the clothes downstairs, asking Mrs Hudson to clean them. Despite the state of them, John took them back and left them for Sherlock on his bed.

"You seem pretty attached to them, you still have the jacket and leather coat hung up by the door," John answered. Although Sherlock's belstaff coat had _magically_ appeared one day, John realising it was one of the few things he had kept safe in the filthy bags he brought back on the return night, the leather coat was next to it with the thin, black jacket underneath. "I thought you might want to keep the rest of the set."

"Why would I hold any sentiment towards some clothing!?" he exclaimed, looking around at an invisible crowd with one of his unique expressions of confusion, before looking at the back of John's head.

"Asked the great Sherlock Holmes, who I know has neatly kept the very items we are referring to on the bottom shelf in his wardrobe." Sherlock left the air blue with curses while John smiled, checking his watch and walking out, Sherlock continuing his unobserved tantrum when John walked through the lobby and out the front door.

* * *

During the morning it was a slow rush of patients who mainly needed check-ups or were panicking they had some fatal disease they had discovered on the internet, occupying the hours before a short lunch break in the clinic's staff room. Simply minutes after finishing his day old sandwich bought at the shop did John's first patient of the afternoon walk through the day, taking him much by surprise. Young children with pale or even green faces did occasionally happen with the accompaniment of a parent, usually ranging from disbelieving in their child's obviously ill state or overly concerned. However, this young girl, with curly, shoulder length, blonde hair and blue eyes dulled from whatever illness she had caught was recognised. It took John a few moments to decipher where he had seen the young girl before, and it suddenly hit him when he realised she was at least two years older.

It was the young girl who had arrived with both her parents, walked into the clinic alone and left the rose after the first anniversary. Now she had returned ill. John showed her the seat behind his desk for her to sit at, but was confused when he saw a women close the door behind the girl. Whoever she was, and John wasn't entirely sure she was the girl's mother, was John's height, casually dressed and, in John's immediate thoughts, pretty.

Naturally, the 'pretty' lady explained why they had arrived, obviously to check what the young girl, Samantha, had contracted, but also to see how severe it was. Basic checks were carried out, and in the end it was just a simple stomach bug that may have started going round.

"I can prescribe some medicine to hopefully get rid of it quicker," John offered at the end, but the lady shook her head.

"I can't make that decision sadly. That would be for her parents to decide," she answered. Samantha was sat on the edge of her seat, hugging her as she stroked her blonde her, comforting the young child. John looked up from the computer stunned.

"So you're _not_ her mother?"

"Goodness, no! I'm taking care of her while her parents are out of town, though they're on their way back after I rang saying Sammy wasn't feeling well."

"Are you related at all?" John asked. It was certainly a personal question, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Nah. I mean, Sammy and her little brother call me Auntie Mary but I'm just a nanny. Part time, anyway," Mary smiled. John wanted to talk to her a little more, but both their phones went off, a call from Mary's mobile and a text on John's. As Mary whispered a conversation with Samantha's mother about collecting her outside the clinic, John raised an eyebrow at the text he peeked at behind the keyboard.

**Case. Come here immediately.  
-SH**

Surprised by the text, he looked over at Mary who was tucking her phone into her small handbag. Samantha looked between them, still clutching Mary's chest for comfort.

"Looks like I have to go, but her parents say it's okay for her to have the prescription," she said. With a short conversation about collecting and taking the medicine, John printed out the form and left it on the side for her to sign as he checked his phone. The text was still lit up on the screen and screaming to be obeyed, but obviously the detective was oblivious that John was in the middle of work!

"Thank you," whispered Samantha, who Mary was carrying out through the door John held open. Mary only smiled to bid farewell, a bright, lively smile that he immediately smiled back at. Quickly grabbing his phone and jacket, he rushed out to reception and made the quickest excuse he could to end his shift early, earning only a grunt from the receptionist.

It was time to get back into business.

* * *

After a long trip back to Baker Street, John almost ran up the stairs, expecting to see Sherlock impatiently waiting for him or to have left a note saying where to meet him or staring at an assortment of pictures and files pinned to the wall as he tried to work out the killer, or how the victim had been killed. Instead the first face he saw when he opened the door was Greg Lestrade's and then saw Sherlock sat at his desk rummaging through the research papers he had lifted from the boxes and was now filing or throwing away.

"What's going on?" John asked, confused. Greg sighed at the ceiling and Sherlock looked up.

"There was no rush, there isn't a case," he answered, picking up a wad of papers and dropping them in a bin next to him.

"There _is_ a case, but Sherlock is presently refusing to go," Greg interrupted. "He's making excuses that it's not interesting and so on!"

"Kidnaps are dull! And you may have forgotten, but the last case we went on led to a dramatic arrest and even more dramatic end," Sherlock loudly retorted. John looked between them and shook his head.

"Sherlock, it won't be like that this time. Things have changed. You should be on your feet helping," he argued himself, walking over and moving the papers from Sherlock's reach. "_Not_ looking through scraps of paper." Two eyes glared straight through his, showing obvious intent to retort at the top of his voice, but Sherlock simply walked past, holding his raging stare and went to the kitchen to look through some more boxes.

"How are you going to get him out the place?" Greg whispered, keeping his back to Sherlock. John turned around, looking at the smiley face graffitied on the wall.

"Shouldn't there be a '_we__' _in there somewhere?" he replied.

"You've had more luck in the past of getting him to go along with us. He followed us after I talked to you about the last case." John thought for a few moments. Sherlock didn't follow just because the DI mentioned a mass homicide, but because Sherlock didn't want John going to crime scenes alone where he suspected it dangerous. Either way, the only idea he had was the only chance.

"Fine, tell me about the case," John announced, louder now and attracting Sherlock's attention, who huffed.

"It shall be dull and you will be wasting your breath!"

"You don't have to listen," John mumbled. He nodded at Greg who cleared his throat and stood between John who was standing by the desk and Sherlock sat in the kitchen.

"Fine, this is what has been reported so far. A scientist who works in London has gone missing. No one knows exactly when, no one knows where he might have gone and there is no footage anywhere to suggest if he was murdered or kidnapped. Since there haven't been any reports of bodies found, we're classing it as a kidnap," Greg explained. Occasionally Sherlock looked up but looked away in disappointment, muttering the words dull, boring, uninteresting, and various others under his breath. John indicated for Greg to keep going.

"We need help finding anything at his laboratory, planetarium or the observatory he works at to suggest where he went," Greg continued. John noticed Sherlock stare a little longer than normal when he mentioned the planetarium and holding it when he said observatory.

"Wait, who is this man?" John asked. Sherlock was slowly ascending from his seat and walking towards Greg, a hint of concern hidden in his eyes.

"It took a while to get through to his assistant who'd just arrived, but Professor Benjamin Antric is now officially missing and-"

"I'll take the case!" Sherlock exclaimed, taking both of them by surprise. He looked around at nothing in the flat before rushing off to his room. John shrugged when Greg looked at him with utter confusion.

"Sherlock!" John called towards the end of the hallway. "What are you doing!?" After a few moments of silence, Sherlock came rushing back, now wearing the rest of his suit and grabbing his coat and scarf.

"Why did you suddenly change your mind?"

"No time. Where to first, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked. John suddenly knew he wouldn't get the answer out of him for a while. "Lestrade?"

"Uh, the London observatory. His assistant there was the one who reported his absence," Greg answered. "Why are you suddenly so intrigued?!" Sherlock gave no answer, only the psychical response of rushing down the stairs. Greg and John followed soon after; at least pleased he was on his feet and actually going to assist in the case.

Sherlock was hailing a cab in the thankfully empty street, no-one around to recognise him from the papers and either stand stunned or look upon him on shame. Greg walked off down to the street for his police car round the corner and John went to climb in the black London can after Sherlock.


	2. The Observatory

**Chapter 2**

By the time they had arrived at the London observatory, the rain had calmed down to a soft drizzle, the clouds slowly moving away and the hope of blue sky visible in the distance. After a silent journey through London and away from the noise and traffic of the centre, they were walking along the stone path up to the circular building where the telescope allowing a view of the stars was surely held. Only two police cars where present, and then a third as DI Lestrade arrived. The surrounding gardens where thick and well-tended despite the winter air and naked trees. As they headed closer to the viewing building, the smaller, squarer building could be seen just behind it, with a short corridor of glass and smooth wood connecting the two. Despite having only two buildings, the recently built site was rather large.

"I'm surprised you haven't turned and run by now," John said as they walked along the cobblestone path, nearing the door to the viewing building and the shape of a police officer coming into view.

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked coldly.

"Because just about everything to do with the solar system is here. Last I heard, you hated the solar system," John reminded him. Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but was cut off.

"I knew it!" The police officer exclaimed, pointing directly at Sherlock's face. It was clear now that the police officer was Sally Donovan. "I was sure it was you that night!"

"Save it for later, Donovan." Greg caught up with them and ordered his colleague. Despite the obvious want to shout at Sherlock and question how he still stood breathing, she followed her boss's orders and then began to open the door. John could plainly see the smirk on Sherlock's face.

When they first entered, it was like stepping back into Baskerville. It was a short, narrow white corridor to another door, this one reflective metal with several key and sensory pads at the side. John expected to see Sherlock looking around, already searching for some indication as to what happened to the professor, but he remained focused on the door. Before looking at the keypad to see what buttons they had to press to open the door, there was a low beep and the metal slid to the side on its own.

John struggled to focus on one thing when they stepped through, standing in the gleaming room that was the entire building. White surfaces and several computers, the giant structure of the telescope, a mixture of silver and white, was slightly sunk into the ground on its platform as the normally open roof for the telescope to pierce through was closed with thick glass, ready to split when the rain eventually stopped falling on its surface. Going around the whole of the building was a platform, strips of glass and metal creating the floor while the silver railing stopped anyone from falling. At the other side of the building was a similar metal door, leading out into the connecting outdoor corridor. Naturally, there were several security cameras glaring at specific points in the structure and most likely hiding somewhere throughout the complex and grounds elsewhere.

Another police officer was standing by a desk close to the lowered telescope, where a young man was typing away and looking at various graphs lit up on the computer. The man was Mark Coombs. He appeared rather young, almost around the age of a university student, with short, brown matted hair that hadn't been tended to in the past few days and wide-awake hazel eyes. Despite his young age, he didn't wear the sort of clothes expected of a young man in London, instead wearing rather worn down and dark clothes, his trousers very much oversized and a green coat which had one pocket torn.

"Any ideas so far?" Greg asked quietly as Coombs finished up his graph studying. Sherlock twitched his nose.

"Something tells me it was here, but I can't put my finger on it," he mumbled, sniffing the air again, though not as discreetly as John would have hoped. Finally closing the files, Coombs walked over, holding a wide smile.

"Morning gentleman. I suppose you're here about Professor Antric?" Coombs clarified. John nodded and Greg began giving the usual introductions.

"…And this is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," he finished. Coombs, as expected from the moment Sherlock returned, held a disbelieving smirk for a while.

"The same Sherlock Holmes's who died, like, three years ago?" he asked. The only response he got was Sherlock rolling his eyes and John blankly nodding. "Nice to have you back in the world of the living." After his laid back response, he looked towards Greg. "So, do you want to ask questions or…?"

"It is the most obvious action to take," Sherlock cut in. "So you're Professor Antric's assistant?"

"Yes, I've been working with him for, oh what is it… about five years I think. It was when the observatory had finished construction and after Antric's previous projects and job at the planetarium. He's a marvellous man to work with and-"

"Moving on, any idea why Antric may have gone or who kidnapped him?" Sherlock asked, uninterested in working relationships and Antric's history. John prevented himself from nudging Sherlock to be less rude.

"Not a clue. He was perfectly fine, getting along with work, periodically going to see his wife. Then he just didn't turn up the next day. I had to leave for a few days so I suspected nothing of it." There was a silence and Coombs coughed. "When I came back and found the place untouched I realised that he was missing. That's when I called the police and reported him gone."

"It didn't occur to you to check the security cameras or call him?" asked John. Coombs raised his eyebrows, seeming to expect the question.

"I haven't had time to go through the all the footage. As for ringing him, I called him the day he didn't turn up and every day after. At first he was just out signal, but then I began realising it had to be out of battery by now. It's been nearly a week. Professor Antric isn't like your other old folk; he is pretty up-to-date with technology and knows how to work a phone."

"That will be all, Mr Coombs," Sherlock announced and turned his back to walk away. As John turned to follow after smiling, Greg thanked Coombs for talking and joined them. Sherlock was finally looking around, appearing interested and John glad they might actually get some work done.

"Anything yet?" Greg asked quietly. Sherlock once again sniffed the air.

"Have you got people looking through the footage?" he asked.  
"Yeah, I sent them over as soon as I got the call. They can get through it quicker than one guy alone. But have you got any ideas on where Antric is? Anyone who might have kidnapped or killed him?"

"If you're suspecting Coombs you're probably barking up the wrong tree. He's not dangerous, it's obvious. A man of his age would hardly have anything out for Antric, and he seems far too occupied with his dream job."

"Not even going to ask for the details on that. Have you got a single thing that could lead to _anything_?"

"I don't want to make any assumptions until I know the footage has been completely checked through."

"Sherlock," Greg moaned, much like a parent at a disobeying child. "What assumptions?"

"Something… something isn't right. Antric isn't dead, no bodies have been found lately. So he's kidnapped, but where is the ransom notes or the hostage videos!? Why has there been no threat. Kidnaps happen for a reason and it is either to get an answer from the victim or someone who knows the victim."

"So we should expect a message of some kind?" John asked. Sherlock looked about.

"Maybe they already left one, maybe someone isn't telling us something. Maybe the kidnappers have no intention of making contact at all, meaning the more difficult task of locating him. Antric is alive, but he might not remain alive if there is no video to help find him. Any tyre tracks or footprints outside will have been destroyed outside by now... What is that blasted scent?" Sherlock mumbled at the end of his thoughts.

"Sir, we have it!" The three of them looked over as two middle-aged officers walked over from the opposite door, heading to the computer Coombs was at. He logged on to the security camera database for them and the IT officers searched for what they had found in the files. It was a file just over a week ago, 24 hour footage throughout the day.

Sherlock, Greg and John joined the crowd around the computer as one of the officers skipped to the section of the recording, marked to be recorded at around 1am.

"We nearly missed it. Whoever these people were, they were smart. Somehow they got into the systems and froze the cameras. But not quite enough, occasionally the cameras would flicker to present time. And that's how we found this." As the officer finished explaining, something flashed across the screen. Everyone squinted at the screen, the camera image still the same, showing the corridor the three had just entered through.

"What was that?" Greg asked.

"Hold on, I need to slow it down. The fault in the virus they installed is barely a second long. Sheer luck we got hold of this." The IT officer at the computer lowered the frame rate into the hundreds and then a thousand before replaying the clip. That's when the sight was clear.

Two men, wearing black and their faces masked were clear in the white surroundings of the corridor. Their identities were completely hidden, but the person they were dragging out the observatory was a little more distinguishable. A white lab coat, dark trousers and face covered with a bag had to be Antric, unconscious and of course being kidnapped.

"So that's what it is," Sherlock exclaimed. Everyone looked round at him in surprise. Sherlock stood straight. "It fits the situation perfectly! The place reeks of it, surely you can smell it too?!"

"It smells of disinfectant and fresh air in here to me," John answered, Greg and a the officers agreeing. Coombs gave no opinion, quickly saying he had a bad sense of smell.

"The disinfectant must be covering the smell, but even then the chances of you knowing what it smells like are limited," Sherlock said, looking around with a bit more joy.

"What is it, Sherlock!?" Greg exclaimed impatiently.

"Chloroform!"


	3. Higher Voices

**Chapter 3**

Kidnap.

It was better than being dead, but the chances of dying at the end of your captivity were always possible, so John couldn't fully consider it all that better. There was an equally silent cab ride back to the flat that evening, Sherlock's thoughts no doubt fixed on the case. John tried his best to think of a few answers, but not only did he have no clue as to where to start his brainstorm, but his mind kept wondering to memories of the last case before the Fall, the kidnap of the two children, poisioned with mercury. Of all the cases Sherlock was returning to, it was the same tye of crime that led to his judgement.

He blinked a few times, taking in the sight of cars and buildings flying by through the window to clear his mind. The sun was about to start its descent and attempt to let the night fight the streetlights and darken this half of the world.

A small half-second clip was all they had to work with for now, slowed down by nearly a 1000 frames just to get a clear screenshot of Antric's unconscious body being dragged out the observatory corridor by two masked men. They had virtually nothing to go on. Maybe it was the reason Sherlock was actually going along with the case, a beautifully complex puzzle he could warm up to, but Sherlock seemed so rusty with deductions lately that John doubted his reasons.

In there time spent at the observatory collecting the tiny scrap of evidence they now had to go by, news of Antric's dissapearance had begun travelling between peers of the professor's in much more responsible and higher positions. Or at least that was the idea John constructed when he walked up the stairs of the flat, only to see the very man he'd met early that morning.

"So I see you took the most delightful case about Professor Antric?" Mycroft greeted towards hs brother, but was blatantly ignored. He sighed and looked to John. "Lestrade just informed me that it is now a kidnap. Most fortunate."

"The man has been kidnapped and is being presumably held hostage. That's not fortunate!" John exclaimed.

"Possibly for some astronimcal discovery that someone else wants credit for?" Sherlock interrrupted. "It's bound to have happened before." Mycroft made no reaction, simply holding his cold stare.

"Yes, you _assume_ correctly. It was only once or twice in his carreer but that was from picky assistants in previous years. All of them have moved on with their lives since Antric has yet to make a major astronomical discovery."

"Does he do any other work?" John asked. Sherlock, despite having half a glint in his eye that he possessed an answer, remained silent. Mycroft twirled the umbrella under his palm.

"Yes. A variety of scientific fields interest him, but his most accomplished research lies in the times he has been an experimental geologist. He still is of course, but the only project he used his knowledge in is classified and now shut down."

"Classified being you know but can't tell us."

"I know a majority of the details yes, but some of the report's contents escapes me. Though it is right to say that the project is, or was, one of the most fundamental and bizarre geological discoveries of the time."

"Could there be any envy for credit in that project?" John asked. Sherlock finally interrupted.

"No public annoucement. If it had gone public then there may have been fueds. But classiffied projects means very highly respected scientists, correct?" Mycroft conferred his brother with a nod.

"Everyone on the project was well-known in their scientific area. Some of them didn't need the credit, they were already highly commended from other discoveries released to the public. But strangely enough, it is those scientists I'm here about." Sherlock rolled his eyes and pretended to ignore him by going back to the mess of papers on his desk. "Rumour of the project being resurrected has become true, but Antric is the lead in experimental plans. They need him alive."

"So you need us to find him?" John exclaimed once more.

"You're the best chance of finding and keeping him alive. Some of the project members have already paid, as they call it, a 'deposit' to you both in hope you will keep your full attention on this case. Maybe work at a quicker pace too."

"I shall work at the pace I choose to work and believe is neccesary. Money plays no part. Tell your colleagues their bribes are nothing." Sherlock didn't even look at his brother when speaking.

"I'll inform them you say hello," Mycroft said quickly, standing to leave. "Good evening." John gave a small smile as he left, before glaring a little at Sherlock, who naturally paid no attention. With not much left to do that evening, John sat down to watch the news. And then his mind started thinking again.

Throughout the entire conversation with Mycroft, Sherlock had acted strange. His eyes had been telling a different story. He ignored his brother and did his best to look disinterested. It was working, practically believeable, but Sherlock hadn't quite got back into the swing of acting. John, after paying so much attention to the consulting detective when he was recovering from the severe injuries priory, noticed the small eye movements, not for interest, but impatience, the sort of impatiene he showed when he already knew something. Sherlock already seemed to know about Antric and the classified project and that the case had nothing to do with it.

Or was John just misjudging his friend? This was an astronomer they were dealing with. Why would Sherlock have any interest in someone who studied the solar system for a living?

John looked again at Sherlock, who continued to study and decide which of his notes he would keep and discard. It was strange. Sherlock almost prized his notes, covered in scietific scribbles that he looked back on, and now he seemed to be attempting to clear it out. What was the odd behaviour?

"I thought you would have wanted to keep those?" John finally asked when he had finished making them both tea and was heading for the door to go to sleep.

"Fresh start," Sherlock bluntly answered, grabbng another large chunk of paper and dumping it on the floor to throw out later. John looked at him for a moment, wondering what had actually gotten into the man. He averted his eyes just a little, meaning to turn his head to look towards the corridor, but he spotted an old sight. A dark sight, just outside the window.

The average-sized, sleek raven of the usual three was back.


	4. Planetarium Office

**Chapter 4**

_"Who might you be?"_

_"A man simply looking for answers. I know who you are. I just ask for your help."_

_"Very funny. Now tell me why you're here in the middle of the night. Money? Research? Take your pick, but the security cameras will help get you arrested very quickly."_

_"No, I am here to only ask for your assistance, for knowledge I do not possess and am in desperate need of. If you are willing to share what you know that is. The answers I seek have led me to believe they lie with the stars."_

_"Oh... I know who you are. Dead man should have given it away, it wasn't that long ago. I read that you were man who knew nothing of the solar system and intended to keep it that way."_

_"Yes. But I still seek your cooperation."_

_"My boy, there is no point in you being here if you do not wish to learn of our system."_

_"No! I need to learn about the stars."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"Constellations, star formations, birth, death, the universe's creation and life. The solar system is small, limited. The information I need is large and vast and spans the universe, I am sure. I believe you can help me."_

_"Hmmm... You may be right. Sit down, I think I can help you. Sounds like a fun little project."_

* * *

The soft, high notes of a small symphony did not make John's mornining as delightful as he wished. The fact he had been awoken by the sound of the violin wasn't the issue, what Sherlock always failed to notice was the time at which he played. Today it was 5:24am and John tried his damnedest to get more sleep, but the constant sound of C#s, Es and B flats argued against his wish.

He quickly learned to block out the sound, allowing some reasonable time for sleep until 7:25am. When John forced open his still groggy eyes and dragged his legs from under the covers so he was sitting up, the music had stopped. John walked out and down the hallway, still silent if the thudding of his feet on the floorboards underneath was ignored.

When he walked out towards the open living room, he found Sherlock sat quietly in his armchair, with his fingers steepled. He was consumed with thought once more, no doubt replaying the video clip within his mind. There was a glint in his eye as John walked past, meaning he wasn't completely cutting off the world, acknowledging John's presence.

"Any new ideas then?" John asked as he turned the kettle on and looked through the cupboards for a quick breakfast. Sherlock remained motionless but answered.

"Sadly not. Though I have considered a few possible approaches." Deciding to not eat at the moment, John sat opposite Sherlock with his cup of tea.

"Approaches? Where to look Antric do you mean?" There was a pause.

"No, not where Antric is. I have no clue on that matter. Places to find more evidence however, I do have some ideas."

"So why aren't you out looking then? You normally rush off by now."

"Questions, questions, questions, that's all you are this morning," Sherlock mumbled quickly before taking a quick breath and continuing. "No. I know where to go, I just don't intend to go there."

"Oh for God sake, you're sending me there aren't you?"John said, now agitated.

"It's perfectly logical. I need you to go the planetarium and look around Antric's office," Sherlock calmly requested.

"Then go there yourself! You spot and notice things far more quickly that I do. You know what you're looking for. I'll probably miss some ridicously small clue that you'll blab at me about later for not noticing."

"I atually have complete faith in the fact you will do fine. You'll spot anything major on your own, and of course Lestrade will be with you. You have much better eyesight than him," Sherlock said, trying to boost John's spirits.

"Say that with Greg here next time," John said quietly. "It's just his office, and you shouldn't be cooping yourself up in here anyway. What happened to taking full part in a case and getting back out into the world?"

"The planetarium is a public place and is busy even at this time of year. I'm a dead man, random members of the public don't just ignore that if you wave a couple of files in front of their face." John looked away when Sherlock made the winning point, but his annoyance in Sherlock's lack of participation didn't cease.

"So what are you going to do while I'm gone?" Sherlock widened his eyes with fake surprise.

"I thought you respected people's privacy!?" he exclaimed and John had to refrain from throwing his mug at him, worsened with the detective's sly grin.

* * *

Shortly after their conversation, Sherlock confirmed a reply from Greg about meeting at the planetarium and John went off to get ready to go. As he headed for the stairs, deciding whether to grab some food at Speedy's Cafe or one near the planetarium, he looked towards Sherlock.

It was only a split second, and would have been seemingly normal, but it is the split second that Sherlock would secretly not have wanted. The man was still sat, with hands steepled in front of his face and was sat motionlessly in his chair, par the movement of his chest from steadied breathing. And his closed eyes. His eyes were creased like he was forcing a single blink with all the energy he possessed, but also gave a sharp intake of breath. These actions were within the space of not even a second, or at least the time John looked before Sherlock returned to his calm state. John considered not leaving, as he recognised these actions, but decided against it.

Sherlock was in pain.

* * *

Greg was waiting outside the planetatrium, hugging his coat in the bitter winter wind that was whipping about. Few people wandered around the building, even fewer walking inside. John mentally cursed at his friend, who could have come along with less eyes to see him, but then less eyes meant a more clear chance of seeing and recognising Sherlock. John followed the DI indoors, no other members of Scotland Yard assisting a search of Antric's office.

"What's Sherlock been doing?" Greg asked as they walked down a darkened corridor which had several stars and planets printed on the wall.

"Sat staring into space, trying to find a detail hidden in what he can remember of the video clip. Any luck sending a copy through?" John said.

"Should be able to drop a copy off tonight if the IT department get off their arses. At least he's staying focused."

"No choice, some people who Antric worked for are paying us to find him now," John informed him. Greg was slightly taken aback.

The corridor ended into the main viewing hall where the cleverly made video on space and stars would normally be played during the busy tourist season in summer. Greg led the way up to the hall, until they reached a small flight of stairs behind a '_Staff Only_' door and finally an old scuffed door with a slightly newer plaque: '_Proffesor Benjamin Antric - Astronomy_'. John opened the door and walked in first.

After seeing Antric's marvelous workplace at the observatory, John must have anticipated an equally lavish office at the planetarium. It seemed the idea may have been located back at the second building of the observatory, because this was not expected. It was a small, dark room with only one window at the back, but the blinds were down and blocked out most of the light. A large desk of unvarnished oak filled most of the room, with neatly arranged piles of books and papers covering the surface, par a few random pieces of paper in the middle, letters and an uncapped pen idly waiting to be picked back up. The curved lamp was turned off and left to sulk in the corner of the desk. At one corner of the room was a metal filing cabinet, and in the opposite corner by the window stood a telescope ready to observe the stars when the right night arrived.

"What are we looking for exactly?" Greg asked. John walked into the middle of the room. The walls were dark, the floor clean but old and everything feeling untouched.

"Sherlock wanted us to see if anything was off, or at least I think that's what he meant."

"Doesn't look like anyone's broken in... May as well look around." John walked over to the telescope, noticing that it wasn't the most high-tech piece of equipment he'd ever seen, but it certainly wasn't an amateurs telescope either. Possibly passing an enthusiasts, but then Antric wouldn't need anything more with the observatory in his palm. While Greg filed through any unlocked cabinet drawers, John sat down in the worn leather chair. He looked at a few letters, checking a few in the piles. All were research papers, and the books ranging from basic astornomy to advanced star science papers with the odd geology experts book. Content with the surface of the desk, he checked the sides. To his left was a small cupboard, and the other side was three deep drawers. With the iron key still in its slot, John turned the lock and opened the cupboard door. It was several shelves slotted into the space, with merely millimetres between each one. It was when John pulled one out that Greg looked over.

"Woah!" was all he seemed capable of saying when the mixture of rocks and gems came into view within the tray. Among the more boring rock specimens, there were labels indicating the different types, their category number, orgin, age, supplier. Some occasionally had extra notes, usually to do with special properties. A few of the specimens had a golden rim around the slot, the notes revealing that these particular specimens were rocks from space. In the end, John left Greg to study each tray and its contents. Instead, he looked at the three drawers. He opened the first one. It was filled with envelopes, a mixture sealed and ripped open. Pens were hidden in the crevices down the side, but otherwise it was a draw of unimpressively categoried letters compared to the top of the desk.

The second drawer revealed another textbook on astronomy. Unsuspicious of the contents underneath, he moved on to the third drawer. A laptop charger, phone charger and various other cables and equipment for the telescope. Antric's laptop must have been back at the observatory. If it wasn't, then John may have discovered some sort of trail. It was probably obvious to Sherlock but always a thrill himself. With a possible trail discovered, John went back to the second drawer. He pulled out the textbook, noticing something different as he placed it on the desk. It wasn't a beginner's astronomy book, nor an experts. The book ranged somewhere in the middle. Immediately John noticed the brightly colored post-it notes sticking out from the top and side of the book. He flicked through and scanned a couple of the marked pages. While the book was on astronomy, with a section or two on astrology, the marked pages held a similiar theme.

Stars.

Deciding that it was part of Antric's work, despite the rather low acedemic level of the book, John opened the drawer to put it back. That was when the folder underneath was clear, appearing full of papers and copies, paper clips and notes sticking out the top, and the bright note of who it was addressed to even clearer. Instead of telling Greg, John panicked, placing the book back and closing the drawer.

"Find anything?" Greg asked. John pretended to struggle with closing the drawers so that he didn't look him in the eye.

"Nah, nothing really interesting," he lied. Did he take the file now, or did he leave it here for someone to find? John had no clue on what to do! Taking a quick breath, he reverted to the truth and looked up at Greg. "Laptop's not here though." The DI nodded.

"I'll get someone to contact Coombs so he can check the observatory office." Both of them left the planetarium, Greg completely calm compared to the silent thoughts John was processing. Thoughts that he needed to discuss with Sherlock.

* * *

The conversation was planned, most reponses thought through. John gave the same raven from yesterday a small look, its eyes monitoring the street and feathers ruffled from the wind. He calmly walked up the stairs. Sherlock came into view as he walked in, still sat in his armchair and took note of John's presence by looking over when he walked in.

"How did the search go?" Sherlock asked. John pretended to not know his discovery and smiled.

"Good. No-one's broken in."

"It took you that long to realise?" Sherlock curiously asked.

"Greg and I decided to look around," John started, walking over and sitting in his own chair, idly picking up the paper. Sherlock was now staring. "I found something interesting."

"And what could that possibly be?" Sherlock drearly asked, seeming to believe John's discovery was either pointless or obvious.

"Oh, just the reason you took the case." He peeked over the top of his newspaper, meeting Sherlock's solid stare and the hint of panicked rage burning within his eyes. But it was gone the next second, he cleverly removed all emotion from his eyes and proceeded to throw his head back and look at the ceiling.

"I doubt that entirely," Sherlock muttered, now waiting for John to speak. He failed in containing an aggrevaited sigh, folding the newspaper and leaning forward.

"An astronomer doesn't hide a folder under a mid-grade textbook in the second drawer of his desk with a note on top with a dead man's first name written on it." That was the exact truth. The flourescent yellow note had Sherlock's name scribbled in capitals. The last thing John wanted was for someone from Scotland Yard to find it and raise suspicion of Sherlock, but he couldn't steal it either. Sherlock remained silent for a few moments.

"You believe a folder as my reason for the taking the case..." he muttered. "You are right to some degree, but also wrong. Shame that you couldn't pick it up."

"Then what's your reason?" John asked, knowing that lecturing Sherlock on the potential danger of the police finding the folder and suspecting him of being involved with the kidnap was slowly becoming more likely.

"If you must know, John... Antric isn't just an astronomer, or a geologist. Aside from being a scientist, he is a friend of mine."


	5. Smoke's Insight

**Chapter 5**

Sherlock rarely spoke for the rest of the evening after his confession, no matter how much John tried to start conversation. He could not help but feel that Sherlock's actions suggested that while his confession was genuine, it wasn't the whole story. Nonetheless, that same evening, Greg got in touch about Antric's laptop. Coombs had reported that the laptop was no where to be seen in the observatory. Coombs had a suspicion the laptop was locked away in Antric's safe, but he did not know where the safe was or how to get in. The laptop was thus counted missing, though Sherlock took this news with great interest, and possible concern.

That night, John didn't get much sleep. It wasn't the nightmares from previous months, nor his own shaky sleeping pattern. It was in fact the small but distracting sounds of someone wondering around in the flat. Sherlock had turned in shortly after John at midnight, but merely an hour later did he leave and start wondering the hallway and the flat. He wasn't quiet about it either. John made no attempt to tell him to go back to sleep, for one reason. Before Sherlock left his room to stay up for the rest of the night, John was sure he heard him yell in fear. A sound John knew very well from his own nightmares. His were about watching Sherlock fall. What were his?

The following morning, just as John was getting ready to leave for the clinic (and consider handing in a notice of holiday or resignation, he could not decide), a police officer dropped of an envelope containging the disc, with the specific security tape on it. John left it in the hands of his flatmate to examine.

* * *

...

* * *

Now that John knew some of the truth he wouldn't need to know anymore. Another session of peace was earned in 221B, but not one where Sherlock intended to let the curse show and lower some of the pain he felt. Showing the curse meant vulnerability, but he so desperately wanted to relieve himself of the aching pain that he knew would grow, it was _just_ bearable now. Still, he couldn't sidetrack from this case, he needed Antric. Pain could wait. He lasted three years with a mixture of worse pain, he could last this case.

But he still thought of the other things. His mind always wondered no matter how hard he tried on occasion, always to his condition, his curse, making the pain a mere afterthought. His research into finding the answers and a cure, a way to lift this curse suddenly set upon him. Though it was now greatly postponed, with his return and Antric's capture. If John had taken the files when he saw them and brought them back, he could examine them at night or while John was at work. And still he needed Antric, he needed the man to understand his findings more quickly, to collect the samples which he wished to study... Damnation!

He didn't want to sleep anymore, he truly wished it wasn't part of a human's life to sleep. When someone is asleep, they can become vulnerable to their own mind and other forces surrounding it. The nightmares where not something he could deny himself, they were far too horrifying, gut-wrenching and enough to make him scream at the top of his lungs when he showed the past, the near present and the changing future. The amount of death that the voices whispered into his image-forming dreams was terrifying. And now the lack of sleep meant he could not think properrly at times.

Smoke jumped as he slammed his fists against the table, ruffling his hair as the small companion looked up at him. He looked down at Smoke, hoping that the answers would be revealed in the dark eyes, that locations and motives and the answers to his gargantuan problems would be revealed. He still needed to care for Smoke, for Knowledge and for Protection. How was he going to care for these three companions now that he was back in 221B? More and more problems arose each day from his condition and companions, and he could tell his friends and brother about none of it. Sherlock turned his focus back to the laptop in front of him on the desk.

He had replayed the clip on his laptop several times, eventually freezing the clip on the clearest image of Antric and his kidnappers What was he missing?

Knowledge could be of no assistance at this point. He had taken watch while he sent Protection out to follow John until he returned to the flat.

Smoke stuck around as Sherlock played the clip several more times. He cursed and he growled, staring into the glaring screen and searching for any detail that could move the case along to save the professor's life. He'd been deducing the difference between civilians and assassins, who to pickpocket for money and where to get food without being seen or recognised for the past three years. Now his skills were rusty and Sherlock would pay the price if he didn't sharpen them quickly. He knew it would be obvious when he saw it, he just couldn't see it.

Smoke was staring at the screen the same as him, trying to help. Sherlock stood and walked around the open living room, trying to clear his head and scan the image behind closed eyes. He heard clicking and turned around. Smoke was now cryng up at him to come over and look at the screen. Sherlock dissaprovingly obeyed. He sat and looked at the clip he was replaying over and over after Smoke had clevery clicked the play button.

Smoke tapped the screen and Sherlock looked at the clip he could easily play in his mind backwards. He argued with Smoke, knowing what the clip was. Then Smoke began pointing out what he had seen. Smoke said that Antric, though being dragged, wasn't unconcious. Sherlock did not say anything, studying the clip to understand what Smoke was saying. Then it all became clear!

Sherlock could now see what he should have seen at the observatory two days ago. Yes, Antric's body was being dragged out of the building, but had his face not been covered then Sherlock would have known a lot sooner. Antric was conscious the whole time. His upper body was stiff, not limp. So what was the chloroform for? Did Antric lock away his laptop as a precaution? How did he even know that they were coming for him?

The answers had to be at the observatory.


	6. Black Light

**Chapter 6**

With another day of work completed, and a notice put in of more flexible hours and holiday time, John returned home to assist in the investigation. He barely made it up the stairs before Sherlock knocked into him through the door and turned him around to walk back down the stairs.

"What's going on!?" John cried as he was basically pushed out the house and Sherlock hailed a cab.

"We're meeting Lestrade at the observatory again. I'll explain everything I've discovered when we arrive. Easier to explain in one go than several times," Sherlock stated as a cab pulled up next to them. John obediently followed and awaited the explanation that they would be granted.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived there, the dark clouds blocking out the sun and making it seem much later in the day that it initially was. The telescope building with its newly built walls still stuck out among the older surroundings and the surrounding gardens looking deader than ever. John only stared at the sleek, soft looking raven that had been following him for most of the day, deciding that it was a good omen rather than the general symbol of death. Sherlock swiftly led the way inside, with Greg and Coombs there to meet them. The chemical smell of cleaning was still around alongside the occasional whisp of fresh air coming in through the open ceiling, but Sherlock could no doubt still smell the weak but sweet scent of chloroform.

"What are we doing here?" Greg asked.

"Have you found out where Professor Antric is!?" Coombs exclaimed.

"No. But the clip did hold some truth after studying it a little more," Sherlock began. "Could you show me where Antric's desk is in here?" Coombs agreed and walked over to a section of a very long table that went around half the room. The section belonging to Antric held the main computer alongside a cleared space for writing and several other monitors surrounding his aloccated area. Sherlock walked around to the front, looking closely at the surface as he began to explain.

"As you saw in the clip from the security camera, Antric was being carried out by two masked men towards the door. That is all understandable, somewhat unimaginative in these people's plan to kidnap Antric. However, Antric's face was covered by that bag, so what do we presume?"

"He was unconscious. You said it yourself that chloroform was in here, though I can't smell it at all," Coombs answered, his complete attention fixed on Sherlock. John was slightly curious to Sherlock's actions as he began looking around the monitors and through the papers, searching for something. He dabbed his hand near one of the three keyboards and must have noticed something on his fingertips.

"Yes. There are still small traces on his desk. Yet it's been a week or so since his capture. This was obviously spilt. Why? If so much had been used to try and knock out Antric, then this quantity would have killed him. Or the kidnappers just carelessly spilt it and didn't clear up there tracks, which seems very uncharacteristic judging by the extent they went to not even leave a trace of dirt in this place. They froze the cameras with a virus, they covered their faces! So, why is it spilt?" Sherlock had stopped searching for now and was looking at them all for a potential answer, which he already knew.

"The only other person which would have chloroform other than the kidnappers would have to be Antric," John suddenly guessed. It made sense in his head when he thought about.

"Precisely," Sherlock cried, a smile appearing across his face, going back to his searching on the desk's surface. "Now, think back to the clip. Antric's face was covered, thus we assume he is unconscious. But his upper body is too tense, and since he is not, we hope, dead then the only other explanation would be that Antric was conscious the whole time."

"But he wasn't struggling. Anyone in his position would try to fight back and get away. There wasn't a weapon pressed against his neck or head ready to hurt him," Coombs lightly argued.

"But what if you already knew?" Sherlock asked. The three collectively drew their heads back in surprise, eyes slightly wider at the thought.

"He was threatened?" Greg asked in disbelief.

"It is a logical theory when you look at everything around you. Antric gets this message through whatever means, so he arms himself with chloroform to knock out his kidnappers. Antric is not a violent man, he does not possess the strength to fight many people. He would not want to kill someone, so he obtained the chloroform to act as a defence. The kidnappers jumped him before hand and the chloroform was knocked over in the process. His attackers may have only thought it as water, something harmless, and left it on the desk to dry up." Sherlock ducked under the desk to search some more while the other three thought it through to acknowledge the theory.

"Yes, that's all fitting, but how did Antric get the message?" Greg asked. Sherlock appeared holding a long object which at first John did not recognise. When the bright, concentrated blue light glowed from it did he realise it was a black light.

"That was under his desk?" Coombs asked.

"These people Antric is dealing with don't appear to be the type to just send a note or email. They are being discreet, but I believe they want to scare Antric too. An email or letter can be taken to the police in a flash and you have won yourself a guard. The threat must have been dramatic, strange, seemingly impossible to do."

"I never even saw him bring that in to work," Coombs stated and Sherlock smiled a little more.

"Then what better way to alert Antric that something is wrong than leave this for him to find under his desk. Turn off the lights," Sherlock ordered and Coombs rushed off to flick the switch. Due to the sun passing by and leaving the room in shadows, it was lucky they could see when the lights were shut off. Small backup lights lit the floor for them to see where they were walking, but Sherlock began lighting up the desk with the black light. Immediately a clear white trail appeared on the desk, running down the side of the desk and along the floor.

They all followed behind Sherlock, who followed the roughly distanced drips along the floor, heading closer to the wall. John could tell what was coming. A threat on the wall, painted in whatever solution had been used. Sherlock raised the light until it was gleaming from above his head to light up the whole message, and his face went dark. The message was clear.

_**'Return what was stolen.'**_

* * *

_**...**_

* * *

Now things had turned peculiar, the case seemed clearer. While Antric's location was still a mystery, he hoped findng this blatant message would shed some light on that problem. It was not so. The message itself was a puzzle, what had Antric stolen? He was not a man of crime and wrong-doing, let alone theft. Did Antric know about a theft, was he accidentaly involved?

These questions he could discuss and investigate later with the assistance of John and Lestrade, but his concern was drawn to the surrounding shapes and images. Knowledge had described the inscriptions of the burnt remains of his old shelter. It was not coincidence that similiar images had appeared upon this wall. Skulls, eyes, and dark symbols, not as complex and as dangerous as the ones at the cemetry, but still the clear link to Danger. The kidnappers had a contact. He was involved. Of course he was! Antric's previous work would have attracted his attention by now, but this could have easily been a stab at Sherlock to grab his attention, to show that he wasn't basking in the shadows inactive.

Nonetheless, this meant one thing to Sherlock. It meant that within this group of kidnappers and Antric, one person was sure to die. Danger was going to be hunted before anything else.


	7. Devil's Palm

**Chapter 7**

Once again it was a restless night. Sherlock made no effort to try and sleep, heard scrambling about in the flat every hour or so by John as he tried to sleep. John knew why, but he still wished Sherlock could be a little quieter as he tried to think. John knew that Sherlock was trying to figure out what had been stolen, what needed to be returned.

Before John had retired to his room, Sherlock had finished sticking pictures of the message to Antric all over the mirror. '_Return what was stolen', 'We are coming', 'Death will find you'. _Certainly terrifying if you found that message in the middle of the night alone.

Sherlock was worried and there was no other way to describe it. The next morning John found him sat on the sofa staring at the other side of the room, quiet, distant and focused as well. Yet he appeared anxious this way, paying no interest in anything else since the discovery of the observatory message, the solving of this case dependant to Sherlock in some way. John had no idea what to do.

"Are you okay?" John asked eventually, breaking the morning silence that became creepy after ten minutes. No response. "Sherlock?" John's sterner tone alerted Sherlock and pale blue eyes drifted over to John.

"Good morning."

"I want to help." Apparently Sherlock had been making plans throughout the night, for he immediately walked over and ripped off a printed page which had several sections highlighted. He passed it to John, and with a quick scan of the text, realised what it was. "Is this Antric's family?"

"Yes. I want you to go and see Lestrade. He'll help contact the family members more quickly. If there's a reason why Antric was kidnapped, it was to do with Antric's personal life or his family."

"What about his work? Maybe he did something in his career that angered a few people."

"No, it just doesn't fit," Sherlock mumbled and very badly stifled a yawn. John bit his tongue for a few seconds.

"You should get some sleep. You've been up two nights in a row. You can't finish this case without any sleep." Sherlock looked at him from the corner of his eyes, huffed and went back to lie on the sofa and think. "You were sleeping fine a few days ago."

"Yes, but that was after several years of very light sleeping and staying alive. I've recovered enough, I don't need rest," he mumbled at the ceiling.

"Are you just saying that to cover up the nightmare you had two days ago or is it your actual concern in this case?" John asked. Sherlock remained motionless for a few seconds.

"Lestrade is expecting you at 9:30. Text me when you get hold of the family." John swore under his breath and ignored Sherlock for the remainder of the morning.

* * *

Later that morning, the cab pulled over a few blocks away from Scotland Yard, the stream of cars leading over there too thick for the cab to bother with. John made his way along the streets towards the large building, the towering sides of glass reflecting the dark grey clouds in the sky and reminding people of the rain to come.

People passed unnoticed, walking the dry streets, fighting the wind and remaining focused on the empty space around them, in front of their eyes. None of these people had secrets to hide, no one stood out in the crowd to John and no one had reason to. Until the black car pulled up next to John and a tall man stood in front of him.

"Oh bloody hell..." Without even a word from the smartly dressed driver, John went and sat in the back of the car, ready to go see the British Government for the third time that week.

* * *

"You know, I'm meant to be meeting someone right now so we can get on with this case and-" John announced, about to walk through the doors within the same lavish building he'd met Mycroft in three days ago, but stopped when an equally confused face met his. "Greg?"

"If you can tell me what the bloody hell's going on, I'd love to know," Greg casually said, going back to looking around the room, presently admiring an expensive painting covering a large section of the wall.

"The sad thing is I can answer," John said, walking past the large oak table and sitting in one of the deeply cushioned armchairs. "I guess Mycroft has something to say."

"Mycroft?" Greg exclaimed, and John realised that this was the first time Greg had been 'summoned'.

"The man has a ridiculous power complex." Seconds later, finishing off a telephone call and walking through the door was the older Holmes, smiling when he put the phone down.

"Good morning, I see you both made it," he greeted, taking a seat at the large table, John and Greg walking over.

"You have no idea how creepy this thing gets, do you?" John asked quietly.

"You sound like one of my old PAs. Staying on the subject at hand, I've been talking to a few of the scientists who want you to find Antric. Please, take a seat." Obediently they sat down at the opposite side of the table. Mycroft produced a file that he had been carrying, placing it on the table surface and sliding it in the direction of the other two. There was the usual government-esk front to it, but the rare, red stamp of 'CLASSIFIED' on the front.

"Is this the project you mentioned?" John asked as Greg pulled the file closer and studied the front cover.

"I made a few calls. I named you two and Sherlock as the only people who I would talk to about the project. I believe it might assist in your investigation."

"What on earth are you two talking about? Project?" Greg looked around confused and John looked at Mycroft.

"You best start from the beginning."

"Very well. Look through the file as you wish. I re-read the report, so I know it well now." Mycroft cleared his throat and looked at them both, face clear of expressions. "Several years back, an active volcano on the west coast of North America fired up. Not a single prediction had been made for any sort of activity. There was a sudden rise in smoke, about two flows of lava, but it wasn't an actual eruption. Instead there was rumbling, something shot into the sky and a day later the volcano had calmed down again. Volcanologists couldn't find an answer to the strange behaviour of the volcano, but it was several hundred miles further west in the Pacific Ocean that things became interesting."

"They found what had been fired from the volcano?"

"It wasn't that difficult. You see a nearby boat found this heat signature. They thought it might be a newly discovered volcano under the ocean. So they went searching for it, no scientists had been called yet. They arrived at the location, in the middle of the sea, and land miles away in every direction. The water was described as bubbling and violently rippling from the heat source below when divers went down to look. They found no great mound, or the opening to the volcano."

"So what did they find?"

"A single rock."

"A rock? Rocks don't cause water to boil."

"This rock did. You could fit it into your palm just about; it was fairly large, and apparently heavy. But the divers quite easily picked it up. It did not affect them in any way, expect this feeling of some heat, but it did not burn them. Naturally, they brought it back to the surface. They placed it on the boat, oblivious that it had come from the volcano. One of the sailors went to touch it and, well..."

"What?"

"He received third degree burns after about three seconds of contact on the rock's surface. In this present day his hand has been fixed with a few minor scars, but back when it happened, that's when they called in about what they'd discovered. American scientists were out very quickly. They knew it was from the volcano due to the blackened and rough exterior, and they thought the heat to be simply from lying in the volcano. They did checks of the location it was discovered. All surrounding fish and plant life within a 10 metre radius was dead, either burnt or dead from the increase of water temperature."

"All that is impossible. A rock can't do that much damage."

"As I said before, this rock could. And that was only the surface. The scientists wrapped up the rock and headed back for land. In America, they called on the best in volcanology, geology and general sciences to examine it. Antric was called in as the experimental geologist for the project, which was being kept very secret. His family moved over since the project went on for about a year, so it wasn't permanent living."

"What did they find out in the project?"

"This rock was from deep within the volcano, deeper than scientists could ever try and delve into. They studied the rock for weeks and realised that the rock emanated its own heat, it never dropped during that time. It stayed at about 50oC mostly, but if a scientist moved closer, the temperature slowly rose. So the first experiment began, stemming from the sailor's unlikely and unforeseen injury. Tissue samples were placed on the rock. They weren't living, but no living creatures were used, not until later. A dead tissue got a slower reaction, but it was the same when a small mouse was left with the rock. It warmed up, and the moment it came into contact with the tissue of a living creature, it would rise to the temperature of that which leaves third degree burns. But, if the tissue is in contact for more than a few seconds... You can say goodbye to the world. The rock burns the person to death, melting skin and muscle until only a skeleton is left, the blood becomes vapour. Leave the bones nearby for several minutes and it will turn to ash."

"That's simply impossible."

"And yet that happened in a lab in America. Later they did the usual experiments. They left that rock in a blast furnace, and it never changed form. It just got hotter and hotter. So they left it in sub-zero temperatures. Nothing, in fact, in warmed up the air around it so that it was always 30oC warmer, and the rock never went below 50oC. With such a bizarre and unique object, they thought the discovery was outstanding. But they chose to not release it to the public. It was too strange, and the object seemed too deadly to show to the world."

"So they locked it away and closed down the project?"

"That is exactly what they did. Antric was there main lead in the experiments. He spent the most time with and handling the rock, so they left it in his care. Now they want to re-open the project. They want to restart Devil's Palm."

"Interesting name for a rock."

"But fitting, no doubt." The entire time, John and Greg had been looking through the pages of the file. Every page followed Mycroft's recollection of the entire report, the first page showing the volcanic activity, then a map showing where the Devil's Palm had landed. The next page contained a photograph of the sailor's burnt hand, and was indeed very severe, the top of his palm charred from the most contact.

They saw the pages containing the experiments, the results, the conclusions drawn from them, and the written comments of the other scientists. Antric's handwriting was on every experiment, but his comments were short, simple and straight to the point.

So was it to do with Antric's work on this project that had got him into trouble? John knew he had to tell Sherlock this, because he wouldn't know about this. Maybe it was to do with work and not personal problems. It wasn't much to go on, but it was something they could use.

* * *

_Dark, damp rooms and horrid surroundings. Few lights and angry faces. Drops of pain and punches everywhere. A week of this was so much for him to bare, but it never ceased for long._

_"Where is it?"_

_"For the hundredth time, I don't know what you're talking about."_

_"Of course you do, you have to know. It is your name that appeared and you're history perfectly coincides!"_

_"Why will not just be frank with me, and tell me what it is you're looking for? I'm an old man, I don't know anything."_

_"What's the point in repeating something you already know?"_

_"Name want it is you want; credit, research, if it's the specimen from the project in America, you can have it! For god sake just say!"_

_"I don't want any of that bloody crap, and none of this is about that bloody pebble found in the Pacific. This is about you, Antric, and no one else."_

_"Then maybe I'm the _wrong_ Antric."_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

John and Greg left shortly after Mycroft revealed the Devil's Palm project to them, heading straight to Scotland Yard to carry on with their task for today, contacting Antric's family. It didn't take long; as Antric's wife, Andria was aware her husband was missing. The last two members of Antric's direct family were found, one contacted, and then the wait for these people to arrive began. John texted Sherlock that they had been contacted, but there was no reply. John didn't know if Sherlock was busy or had intentions of heading over to Scotland Yard to see the family, but he stayed in Greg's office, going over the case so far with Greg.

"Do you think the Devil's Palm project has anything to do with it?" Greg asked.

"I personally have a feeling it does. The whole story sounds shaky and pretty clear to have links. But Sherlock seemed adamant this morning in saying this whole thing was to do with Antric's personal life, or possibly his family."

"Maybe when we tell him about this he'll take it into account."

"But Mycroft said it himself that all the scientists there would have no reason to hurt Antric, he was respected. His family can't have done anything, they probably know nothing compared to us."

"The best we can do is talk to Sherlock then the family. He's the only one who could shed any light on this whole thing."

Sherlock was the only person they knew who could figure out the intentions of the people who kidnapped Antric, but remembering Sherlock's interest, possible concern in the case always threw John. While Sherlock had cared for the safety of others in the past, it was never within an actual case or it was much more toned down. This was new.

As John then thought about it, Sherlock had never shown so much care about others until he returned. He had worried about John going to a crime scene alone, he had worried about the fifth victim much more than he normally would that same night. And now he was worried about a scientist he claimed to be friends with.

"You should probably go back," Greg said after a few moments of silence when John was lost in thought. "Sherlock isn't going to head outside during the day, let alone walk into here."

Sherlock's eyes were glazed over and desperate to rest when John saw him staring at the mirror from the sofa again, ignoring John's presence completely. He even tried talking to him, raising his voice, but Sherlock's mind was lost, trying to unravel the trail and find the solution. There was nothing he could do but wait for Sherlock to exit his closed-off state of mind, and knowing that would take a while, he quietly sat down with his laptop and wrote a draft of what he would write on his blog, but never post. Occasionally he flicked over to the manuscript of the strange dream, since it had become habit, and still struggled to decipher a majority of it out.

"So what is the family's state?" Sherlock asked out of the blue. John was luckily glancing over at the time, and was not surprised when Sherlock spoke. He closed the laptop.

"Antric's wife is heading down to Scotland Yard and she should be here in the next few days."

"And the two sons?"

"The youngest son is also on his way, Andria Antric is going to talk to him and they'll arrive together. As for the eldest son, he can't have been part of this, not recently."

"Where is he?"

"Australia. He's been there for six months on a marine geology investigation since he followed Antric closely in the scientific field, or that's what Andria told us."

"Then he's completely clean, if he was in the country then I would suspect the entire family." John nodded in understanding. Then it struck him.

"How exactly do you intend to ask questions?" Sherlock looked at him like John had spoken utter gibberish.

"Through an interview, of course! I'll talk to Lestrade and ask they come here. I can't stroll into Scotland Yard without meeting an audience."

"He's not going to let you have them over here, you know that?" Sherlock did not answer.

There was a heated conversation between Greg and Sherlock on the phone regarding the newly arrived visitors to London and the issue of Sherlock being able to question them without stepping into Scotland Yard. Naturally Sherlock won, but by the skin of his teeth, and a few moments later Benjamin Antric's wife and youngest son arrived outside 221B in a police car with the DI. John greeted them when they all entered the flat, Sherlock staring silently from his chair, making no indication of greeting.

"I'm Andria Antric. And this is my son, Cody," Antric's wife said. The youngest son walked through the door, looking disgruntled and constantly annoyed. He made no eye contact with John, Greg or Sherlock and slumped down on the sofa, a woman of equal age perching next to him and smiling a little to make up for, as John could only guess, her husband's actions.

"I'm sorry that we have to ask questions about your husband here, but Dr Watson and Mr Holmes are assisting in the investigation," Greg explained. Andria's mouth flicked a quick smile and looked towards Sherlock.

"Ben didn't really talk about that whole incident a few years ago, but he burst out a few months after that you weren't dead. He said you weren't a fake and were no doubt alive." He hid a smile. "So what questions would you like to ask?"

"We'll start with the basics of course. When did you last see your husband?" Greg asked. Andria thought for a moment. John noticed that she was remaining extremely calm about the whole situation. She was a woman who stayed in the positive side of things, and must have felt that Antric would make it out of this alive and in one piece.

"About three weeks before the night you say he was kidnapped. He comes home every few weeks to stay for a couple of days or weeks. He stayed for a few days to see Cody and myself before coming back to London. He was perfectly fine."

"He hadn't received the threat by then," Sherlock interjected. The comment took Andria by surprise.

"Ben was threatened?"

"Yes, we discovered it on the walls of the observatory two days ago," answered John.

"What did it say?" John handed a photograph to Andria, with the written message 'Return what was stolen' illuminated by black light. Luckily the strange symbols and eyes around the messages couldn't be seen on the photograph, as John was sure it might scare her. "Stolen?"

"I'm afraid we don't know. You wouldn't happen to know what it was that was stolen?" Greg asked. Andria shook her head.

"This surely sounds like something to do with his work," Andria stated, but John shook his head.

"I did question the same thing, but Sherlock has completely crossed out all of Antric's work," John said. Sherlock inhaled sharply.

"Professor Antric worked on such high projects and low ones that he cannot have done anything as petty as theft. You know your husband better than I, and know he isn't a man of crime. The odd message and attempt of self-defence by Antric suggests he does not know his enemy. If this was within his work, he would know the strength of his enemy better, and know whether to run, hide or even give in immediately," Sherlock explained. "This is to do with the Antric family, and nothing else."

"Whatever he's done, he had it coming…" Everyone looked towards Cody Antric, who was slumped on the sofa pulling at thread in a cut on his trousers. Sherlock head turned sharply towards him, the rest of his body solid.

"Cody, don't speak about your father like that!" Andria cried as flicker of anger passed in her eyes.

"What makes you say such a thing?" Sherlock asked. Cody raised his head a little.

"Why ask when you're Mr I-Can-Deduce-Anything?" Cody mocked and the consulting detective sighed.

"Sometimes a man's answer can tell more of a story. It's clear you have a distinctly bad relationship with your father. Your comment and disinterest in the whereabouts of your father can be seen by everyone in this room. What makes this bad relationship relate to Antric's career and interests was before me in a few seconds."

"How the hell did you know that?" Cody asked, and Sherlock gave a small grin as everyone readied their ears.

"From a young age Antric must have shown you and your brother the scientific world. Your older brother is currently in Australia as I've been told. But what about you? If you were in the scientific field you would be dressed based on your field. You fit none. The age of your clothes and your attitude says a university drop-out, not only disinterested in science but most education in general. Your job as a handy-man, with the paint and brick dust on your trousers pointing that out, means your income is low and you can't afford better. And all because you wish to spite your father for his career choice."

"Science is pathetic. It does nothing to help the real world, only cause more problems. You've heard of those labs in the corners of the world, hurting creatures, going beyond the laws of what should and should not exist!"

"So you'd rather people die than scientists use cells taking painlessly away from others to cure millions?" John asked, becoming as frustrated as Sherlock must have behind his glazed eyes.

"It's lies! They hurt animals for testing! I wouldn't be surprised if someone discovered that they use people for testing, because I know they do! And it's not just stupid cells and diseases. It's scientists who poke in people's heads and treat them like animals; it's scientists who wreck the world in search for stupid rocks and bones."

"You choose to not appreciate the very foundation of the world you live in. Everything around you is born from studying and tests and generally a science of some name," Sherlock said, remaining calm and bottling his anger. Cody rose from his seat, leaning forward to stare closer into Sherlock's eyes.

"It's science that created lying freaks like you. You're a fake and you were willing to kill people to make others believe you were some founder of a 'science in deduction'. It is bullshit. All of it!" Then the room seemed to freeze. Cody was silently snarling at Sherlock, while the detective remained motionless as well. John was sure Sherlock would take a swing at him, retaliate after such an unforeseen insult. Then Sherlock spoke; only he was quiet, and his tongue hissed with anger.

"Sit down, or I shall ask you to leave the premises." Cody stepped back and made ready to leave, his wife standing up to follow him. But just before walking out the door, he turned around.

"It was that year in America which was the final straw. I heard him talking on the phone, and I know what they were doing. Whatever you were told is a lie." And with that he made to walk out. However, someone stood in his way. "Move it, old lady."

As Mrs Hudson looked at the young man in shock, Andria scolded him like the child he was acting, John joining the others in glaring at him.

"If you don't mind," Mrs Hudson said towards Cody harshly, before walking into the room and looking at John and Sherlock. "A strange man came to the door and told me to give you this." Greg took the square envelope from the landlady, the room went quiet once again. He opened the letter, and a CD slid out, with '**_PLAY IT' _**written in marker on the surface.

Sherlock was the first to react, jumping to his feet and taking the CD to put it in John's laptop which was closest. As the disc was read and a video program loaded, the laptop was placed on the desk and the group gathered round, though Mrs Hudson left. Andria ordered Cody to stay with them, but he did not show an interest in watching the screen, even though it was quickly becoming obvious what it was. John knew his guess was most likely, and when the first few seconds of the video showed Antric with his kidnappers surrounding him in black masks it was solid.

Antric looked very alert, staring straight into the camera, but was tied to a chair and only able to properly move his head. Not a scratch was on his body. John looked at Sherlock just before the man next to Antric began speaking, but the consulting detective had yet to shows signs of revelation or understanding. The man whom he claimed to be a friend was on the screen, and Sherlock was ready to save him. The threat was about to be issued, and nearly everyone's attention was fixated on it.

"You are no doubt wondering why Professor Benjamin Antric is sat among us at the moment. But then why answer a question when you know the answer," he said. The man who stood next to Antric was standing tall, with his hands behind his back and talking as though to a large crowd. "This disc will have been sent to the address his wife and son were seen entering. Police officers are without a doubt watching this alongside you. In fact we know exactly who shall be watching this alongside you. Some of the best will be with you, so they can figure out our location from this video. But you should first know the rules."

The man withdrew a knife which he held out level to Antric throat. The professor visibly gulped and tried to edge away from the knife subtly, but without success. He remained calm, and hid his fear well. Andria was beginning to shake and Cody's eyes were slowly been drawn to the screen.

"If you wish for Professor Antric to return to you alive, then we simply request that you bring back what was stolen in exchange. A very simple deal. But when you arrive at this location, there may only be two officers with you… Or more specifically, the detective which is leading your investigation, and other authoritative figure of your choice, but there can only be two. No more. There is one more rule. Antric shall not be fully considered release unless the member of the Antric family responsible for the theft is brought forward. They must claim their mistakes and punished. You're companions can try to help you, but they will fail."

There was a chill in the air, an intake of breath, Andria holding back the tears for just a few more seconds and John seeing Sherlock look worried for a single second.

"A 24 hour countdown will begin at midnight today. When the time is up…" The man said no more, but moved his hand holding the knife away. The screen turned black as the video ended, just before the knife flashed across the screen ready to dig into the scientist's side.


End file.
